


Hopes & Doubts

by EmolyAndSassuet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bahorel - Freeform, Bossuet - Freeform, Cosette - Freeform, E/R - Freeform, Enjolras - Freeform, Feuhorel, Feuilly - Freeform, Grantaire - Freeform, J/B/M - Freeform, Jean-Prouvaire - Freeform, Jolssuetta, Joly - Freeform, L'aigle, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Les Miserables - Freeform, Lesgles - Freeform, Marius Pontmercy - Freeform, Montparnasse - Freeform, Montponine, Multi, Musain, Musichetta - Freeform, Prouferre, combeferre - Freeform, jehan - Freeform, marius - Freeform, Éponine Thénardier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmolyAndSassuet/pseuds/EmolyAndSassuet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Amis have a costume party on the upper level of Musain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - this fanfiction is based on Les Misèrables by Victor Hugo, specifically his Les Amis de l'ABC. It was written by us, Emily and Saskia, and we do not own the characters, the characters on which the costumes are based, or Musain, or even Paris, France for that matter. 
> 
> No revolutionaries were harmed in the making of this fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Emily

It was a mid-April afternoon, and Les Amis de l'ABC were all on the upper floor of Le Cafe Musain. The sun was bright, but not overwhelming. There were already a decent amount of flowers which had risen above the soil that was beneath them. Many children, who were otherwise not prone to spending much time in the streets, had taken to playing various games outside, and quite loudly, too! 

Another sign that it was springtime, was in fact springtime allergies, which brings us back to the upper level of Musain, in which two young men were afflicted with said allergies. The first one was perhaps a little older than the other men in the room. Though, he was not much older than the rest, his hair started thinning out four years earlier. Lesgles, or Bossuet, as everyone called him, had taken to wearing a wig most of the time. On that day, his eyelids were very pink and puffy, and his nose was runny. 

The other man was a fair bit younger, and in some ways, his hair made up for Bossuet's, or his lack thereof. The colour of his hair was on the very dark and subtle side of auburn, and it stuck up in every direction in an unruly mess. He wore reading glasses, but he had to keep removing them to rub his eyes, and he couldn't stop sneezing. This young man was Joly.

This did little to distract the marble statue that was Enjolras. He may have looked very feminine and innocent, with his long blond curls and soft facial features, but he made up for his non-threatening appearance in his severity and determination. Enjolras sighed impatiently every time Joly interrupted him with a sneeze. Well, maybe it wasn't the sneezing itself that interrupted him, so much as Joly, with a completely panic-stricken expression on his face, asking Bossuet and the other Amis if they think he's come down with a cold. Or worse! It was possible that he could have an additional affliction, was it not? Bossuet was, of course, the only one who could reassure him.

Enjolras proceeded, with the more than occasional, drunken interruption from Grantaire, who kept referencing classical literature as reasons why protesting does not change the world at all. Enjolras glared at Grantaire and said through gritted teeth, "it's the only thing that ever has".

"Awkward..." Courfeyrac muttered under his breath, though it hardly seemed that way. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes and was obviously fighting a smirk as he said that. It did not take long for any of the Amis to notice the sexual tension between the idealist and the cynic, least of all for Courfeyrac to notice. Courfeyrac was the ladies' man of the group. He was also kindhearted and good-humoured enough to cheer up any of his friends if they needed him to, and he was always happy to oblige.

"At least you don't mean me again", chuckled Courfeyrac's best friend and roommate, Marius. Marius really was socially awkward, and had until recently avoided any pretty girl he came across, but he was certain he'd found "the one" this time. He even announced so much to all of his friends during a meeting.

"Not this time, mon ami", Courfeyrac smiled and turned his head back to Enjolras and Grantaire, who were bickering and staring at each other with such intensity, he quickly turned his head away and decided to start a new conversation. "We haven't had a party in a while", he commented, and not so subtly suggested.

"Everyone just gets drunk and regrets stuff at those things", Marius said with a shrug.

"But that's what's so awesome! One day, you may regret not doing those things", Courfeyrac countered.

"So I should do something I'll immediately regret so I won't regret not doing that when I'm older?" Marius clarified with his roommate, who nodded cheerfully.

"But maybe we should do something a little different", Feuilly suggested casually. He was always in the mood to try doing new things. He had wavy red hair, which he kept underneath a hat, much like Grantaire did, and he had as many freckles as Marius did. Like Marius, though, it made him look more sheltered and innocent than he actually was. He was very much independent, and even though he did not have much, he had enough to get by.

"Different? How so?" Bahorel, Feuilly's lover raised a brow in genuine interest. He, too, enjoyed a good themed party. Bahorel was more masculine in appearance than most of the Amis, and had an intimidating quality about him. He also had a propensity to get involved in bar fights. His nose was completely crooked after one fight, and Joly insisted that he have a professional doctor examine it. He had scarcely finished his sentence when Grantaire had merely bent it back into place.

"What about costumes?" The youngest Ami suggested quietly, but in such a way that people who had been talking at the time were compelled to quiet down so the poet could speak. His name was Jean-Prouvaire, though he preferred to be called Jehan. He loved flowers, poems, and playing the flute. His hair was quite similar to Enjolras's loose blond curls, and his face was also very feminine. Though, no one mixed them up, only in part because Jehan was noticeably smaller. Enjolras dressed, more often than not, in red polos and hoodies, paired with khakis. Jehan's. Dress. Sense. Was. Terrible. There was no way around it. He'd often pick a very ugly, and quite frumpy, sweater and whatever he chose to wear with said sweaters never matched properly.

"Now, that is a brilliant idea, mon ami", a very handsome, though very bookish man smiled softly. It was Combeferre, who read everything he could get his hands on. He was big and buff, though he never bragged about it. On the contrary, he was insecure about his looks because he felt the weight of every stare from strangers passing him on the streets. It made him uncomfortable. He was also infatuated with the young poet.

"Hey! Wait a second!" Enjolras finally turned his attention away from his debate with Grantaire, which most consisted of him scorning the drunken cynic, and was only just now aware of the party planning. "What's going on here?"

Grantaire had the advantage of being observant, and in taking great amusement in the Amis' conversations - even when drunk and engaging in a debate with Enjolras. "They're throwing a costume party. Where and when, I don't know". 

"Don't you think that's important information, Grantaire?" Enjolras pursed his lips.

"We haven't decided yet, actually", Courfeyrac interjected.

"What if..." Musichetta snuck up behind Bossuet and Joly, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. Bossuet smiled up at her warmly. Joly was a little startled, but then he turned around and smiled at her, as well. "...you boys meet here? After the cafe closes, you can all have your costume party here on the upper floor". She offered with a gentle smile, flicking her shoulder-length, black curls off her shoulder. "Our doors are open anytime after 9:00pm".

"Merci, Chetta!" Bossuet said graciously, as he turned around and gently kissed his girlfriend's lips. The other Amis were also grateful to Musichetta. Joly leaned in to kiss Bossuet the second his lips had separated from Chetta's. Then, Chetta kissed Joly's forehead, right along his hairline. It was not uncommon for a person to love more than one person at the same time, but it was noteworthy that no one in this polyamorous triad seemed to get jealous of the attention the other two gave each other.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius and Courfeyrac have fun dressing up for the costume party at the Musain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this we will post one chapter every Wednesday to keep things interesting :-)  
> This chapter is written by Saskia

Finally Friday evening was there and everyone started to dress up for the party, trying to be the one with the most creative and funny costume. Musichetta had suggested (or rather decided) to do a costume competition and they all, apart from Enjolras and Marius (who ‘just wanted to wear a costume that expressed his feelings’), had loved the idea. The next few days all of the Amis had wracked their brains to come up with the perfect costume and in the end most of them were satisfied with their ideas.

“How do I look?”, Courfeyrac asked, letting out a loud laugh as he stepped into the living room. The dark-haired boy was dressed in a cream-colored silk gown and even nylons and his roommate stared at him with wide eyes. The shock was clearly visible on his freckled face.“Y-you…”, Marius stuttered and in his eyes there was an expression that said ‘My friend has gone absolutely crazy and I don’t know how to react’. “Wait, are you making fun of my costume?”, the freckly boy suddenly realized and that caused a crooked grin to appear on the other’s face.

“Of course I do. I do that every time. And if you, my lovesick friend, dress as Cupid, I can of course be Aphrodite. The costume definitely suits me. In the Greek mythology she is described as beautiful and seductive and now just look at me.”

Courfeyrac wouldn’t stop grinning and finally the boy in the white linen outfit must admit that the idea was indeed quite funny. Besides he couldn’t think of anything else, while he tried to glue a red paper heart to the head of the arrow that belonged to his costume. Still he gave his friend a slighty offended glance for mocking him. Again. But that didn’t last long and when he put his wings on and reminded himself that he would meet Cosette in less than an hour, a dreamy smile appeared on his lips and his cheeks flushed a little bit.

“Dreaming about Cosette again?”, Courfeyrac smirked, knowing that he was right, when Marius cheeks turned redder and redder .“Oh wow, your thoughts must have been very dirty. Your cheeks look like ripe cherries”, the boy continued to tease and bent down to put some golden sandals on. At this, Marius’ just turned away, obviously embarrassed, and the typical grin on Courf’s face grew even brighter. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I have dirty thoughts often enough”, he didn't try very hard to reassure him. Marius stayed silent until the other boy, now wearing a wig of blond and wavy hair, tapped his shoulder and caused him to start giggling uncontrollably at the sight of him.

Suddenly a phone rang and both of the boys started to look around, trying to find their mobiles and checking which one was ringing. Why did they even have the same ringtone? Right, because loud songs were annoying and they both were too lazy to change the settings of their phones anyways.

It had been Courfeyrac’s phone and, holding it to his ear, the boy threw himself on the sofa. “Bonjour, sweetheart”, he grinned and Marius guessed that the person who called was some girl Courf had met somewhere and which was already fatally attracted to him. Only as the boy on the sofa started talking about tonight’s party and how it’s definitely not possible to think of a good costume while always having one’s nose into a book, he realized that the ‘sweetheart’ on the phone must be Combeferre. And then suddenly Courf’s voice turned into a whisper and he quickly stood up and walked into another room, talking insistently to their friend. Marius’ puzzled gaze followed him until the door was shut. The boy in the Cupid costume frowned in confusion before he shrugged and reached for his phone to text Cosette. And his thoughts were not dirty.

Fifteen minutes later Courfeyrac left his room with a thoughtful expression on his face but soon it was replaced by his usual charming grin. It didn’t have its usual effect though because the boy was still wearing girls’ clothes and a long golden necklace. At this time Marius’ eyes were still glued to the screen of his phone and a goofy smile played around the corners of his mouth.

“Earth to Marius!”, Courf tried to get his flatmate’s attention by poking him in the cheek. “It’s already late and there’s a party we have to go to. So stop sexting your girlfriend. You’ll see her soon enough.” Marius blushed again even though he really didn’t have a reason to.

“I didn’t--…”, he began but the other man interrupted him with a warm smile and an ‘I know’ and wrapped his arm around Marius’ shoulder. He was already pulling him towards the door, when Marius noticed that he had forgotten his bow and arrow and a huge amount of paper hearts, which he planned to throw at everyone. He was Cupid tonight and he had to spread love everywhere. When they were out of the door, he looked at Courfeyrac and giggled again at his appearance.

“What did you and Combeferre talk about?”, he asked but the other just shrugged.“This and that. The party, girls and other stuff, you know. You are in love, you wouldn’t understand”, he grinned and changed the subject by asking a question himself.

“What did you and Cosette talk about, huh?” 

Marius made a face at him.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The costume party is just an hour away. One Hour More. This chapter features Bahorel, Feuilly, Grantaire, Èponine, and Combeferre. This chapter was brought to you by Emily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I essentially described Frances Ruffelle as Èponine Thènardier. I still love Samantha Barks, though. I just picture Frances as Èponine.

"It truly is a masterpiece. Your best work", Bahorel looked genuinely impressed, but also dryly amused. His lover, the orphan fan-maker, Feuilly, had chosen to make his own costume. He was a peacock, and his tail was one massive hand fan, which he had hand-painted himself. The details were beautifully intricate, and the colours were deep and intense.

"You mean it?" Feuilly smiled softly at Bahorel, blushing a delicate pink. It was only when he was very embarrassed that he'd blush redder than his own hair.

"Of course, Feu. You know your way around a hand fan. How about me?" Bahorel turned around as though he were on a runway. He didn't need to work terribly hard on his costume. He bought some medieval-looking clothes and parted his hair in the middle, but it was obvious who he was dressed as. Bahorel was already the spitting image of Flynn Rider from Tangled. 

"Gorgeous as always", Feuilly smiled bashfully and pecked Bahorel's cheek.

"Oh kiss me like you mean it", Bahorel tilted Feuilly's head towards his own lips and kissed him passionately, though as tastefully as he would kiss his lover in public.

"You really look like Flynn Rider", Feuilly observed once they broke the kiss.

"And you really look like a girly bird", Bahorel teased.

"Actually, the male peacocks are the colourful ones. To attract mates. Female mate", Feuilly said defensively.

"Well don't you start attracting mates of any kind except me, okay?" Bahorel was actually pretty reasonable. He often came across as jealous, but Feuilly knew better. They both enjoyed being together and spending time working on platonic relationships, or even just alone time. Bahorel trusted Feuilly implicitly. He just cracked his knuckles and put on a threatening face occasionally at the thought of anyone taking an interest in his lover to prove that he still had an interest in Feuilly.

"I don't think I will", Feuilly admitted quietly. "I only attract you, and that's all I need".

"Oh, hey, don't act so modest. Even the marble statue himself would date you if he had a chance", Bahorel said with a chuckle as he cupped Feuilly's cheeks and gave him another kiss.

"That's not true. You know he only has eyes for one person", Feuilly smiled knowingly.

"What? France? I don't know how he expects to date a chunk of landmass", Bahorel blinked in confusion.

Feuilly chuckled and rolled his eyes, not annoyed, just amused. He adored Bahorel, as oblivious as he may be at times.

"No, silly, Grantaire".

"Oh. Right. The eyesex", Bahorel nodded in acknowledgement. "Right".

Meanwhile...

"What the hell are you wearing, 'Taire-Bear?" Èponine placed one hand on her hip and looked annoyed and amused at the same time.

"I thought you'd know what your own country looked like", Grantaire scoffed at his roommate. "And damn, you're no angel". He commented with a teasing grin. Èponine was technically dressed as an angel (she wore a white dress and a halo), however, the length of her dress and the amount of cleavage that was visible made the costume less convincing.

"You're dressed as France?" Èponine's minor annoyance disappeared completely. She looked utterly amused. "I don't think I even need to ask why". Grantaire crossed his arms, a sour expression on his face. She was right, though.

Grantaire's roommate, Èponine was a rough-looking girl, with her hair in millions of dark ringlets, and her coarse voice that made her sound perpetually drunk, and her (more often than not) immodest dress choice. The truth was, despite her rough appearance, she was even less gentle in personality.

Grantaire loved her, though, and the feeling was mutual. They drank together more often than they should have. Whenever these two roommates got drunk together with no one else around, their conversations became gradually more depressing as the night continued. Whenever Èponine, rejected in every sense of the word by Marius, complained that she hated men and they only wanted one thing, Grantaire would listen. He didn't get offended, and he even contributed to the conversation his own unrequited love of Enjolras. 

"France is as good a country as any to wear as a costume", Grantaire said with a shrug, very indifferent to any form of patriotism. His costume consisted of a sheet of bristol board paper cut in the shape of France, and he coloured in the blue, white, and red so it looked like a flag on the landmass-shaped paper. "And don't tell me your slutty costume isn't to get anyone's attention".

"Grantaire, I am very disappointed in you", Èponine crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought you were one of the good guys who realized that women wear what they want, and what they feel good in. We don't base our entire wardrobes on the expectations of men in patriarchal society. And it is not for men to judge women based on what they're wearing, how much their body is covered, and what their bodies look like".

"...okay then. I'm sorry, Pony", Grantaire looked very remorseful about what he'd just implied.

"Now", Èponine smiled slightly, forgiving Grantaire completely. "How do I look? Will I make Cosette jealous?" She posed, turned around, then posed again for Grantaire.

Grantaire chuckled lightly to himself. "You look wonderful. Almost makes me want to date you myself".

Èponine snickered. "Right..."

Grantaire nudged Èponine's arm, even though he should have known better. He gave gentle nudges to encourage his friends, but Èponine always took it too far. Perhaps she didn't know her own strength, but it was more likely that she needed to prove how strong she was. Right before the nudge war got ugly, Grantaire's phone rang. It was Combeferre.

"Bonjour, mon ami", Combeferre greeted Grantaire. "And Èponine, I know you're there, so hi".

"Hey, 'Ferre", Èponine replied as she stuck her head as far in between Grantaire's ear and his phone as she could. Then she grew bored and started putting on her make up. It was surprisingly natural and minimal, for someone wearing such a revealing costume.

"Hey, 'Ferre, what's the problem?" Grantaire asked in a casual voice. He had not a care in the world, since his costume was complete.

"The problem is that the party is in an hour, and I don't have a costume", Combeferre seemed embarrassed, as though he had to admit this with great difficulty.

"Oh mon dieu, Combeferre. People say I procrastinate, but wow", Grantaire chuckled, amused because for once, he was prepared for something, and studious, responsible Combeferre was not.

"I knew I shouldn't have called you. Besides, I focus on more important things".

"Don't 'important things' me. I get enough of that from your roommate and my future husband", Grantaire sounded annoyed, until the words 'future husband' had been spoken.

"Just... help me. Please. And by the way, when do you plan on asking your future husband on an actual date?" Combeferre feigned interest and concern. Deep down, he was just amused by how stubborn Enjolras and Grantaire were when it came to dating.

"Never you mind that. Anyways, I do have one idea. You may not like it..."

"Nothing sexual, please", Combeferre turned a decently bright shade of red.

"Is that all I am to you?" Grantaire pretended to take offence.

"No, not at all. What won't I like?" Combeferre sounded not only curious, but almost pleading, as well.

"Okay, so Comic Con France is going on. You're bigger and stronger than any of those nerds there. Just ask Joly. Basically, you can gang up on any nerd with a kickass costume and just take it", Grantaire spoke evenly, though he could not keep a straight face. Èponine almost took this idea seriously. "Because all the costume stores are closed for the night".

Grantaire was met with a response he would have never expected. "You're a genius, 'Taire!" Combeferre said excitedly.

"Why thank you", Grantaire was too flattered to explain to Combeferre that it was just a joke.

"Why am I stressing about this", Combeferre paused and opened his closet door. All Grantaire heard from his end of the phone was a creak. "When I have the perfect Eleventh Doctor costume right here?" He smiled once he found his red cylindrical hat, suspenders, and bow-tie.

"Or you could just be one of the nerds, yourself", Grantaire muttered with a shrug.

"Hey, it's a good show, give it a chance", Combeferre insisted.

"Oh, I watch it all the time. Just... only when I'm high".

"It's actually scary when he does that", Èponine interjected loudly, making sure Combeferre could hear her, even though Grantaire's cell phone was across the room. Not that their flat was particularly big. Or clean.

Combeferre laughed in response. "Okay, well, thanks for the help, 'Taire-bear".

"Only Èponine can call me that!" Grantaire was defiant. "Or Enjy. He could call me that. But he never does. Well, au revoir, then". His tone was now a little dejected. Èponine gave Grantaire a comforting hug once the phone call ended.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some Jehan, as well as some roommate stuff with Enjolras and Combeferre, and some Joly, Bosset, and Musichetta. I promise, the party will start next chapter. Just hang in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we just sort of mixed up whose chapters were whose. Everything except the final scene was written by Saskia. Then Emily took over and wrote the last scene. We will do this sometimes.

"Perfect", Jehan smiled happily and gave the man in the mirror an approving nod. Actually it wasn’t even a real man and it definitely didn’t look like Jehan anymore. Not even the smile could change that. Usually it enlightened his whole face as if the bright morning sun shone through the windows that were his ocean blue eyes, but in this moment curving up the corners of his mouth just made his face look grossly distorted. Briefly speaking that was exactly the way the boy wanted it to look tonight and he was perfectly satisfied with his whole costume, even though he missed the dozens of flowers that were usually braided into his medium-length blond hair. Instead his hair looked uncombed and chaotic. 

Quickly Jehan checked the time and realized that he was already too late. The boy sighed. Where had the time gone? The costume itself hadn’t taken much time. He just wore a striped pullover, a pair of bib overalls and red shoes. But for the make-up Jehan had spent several hours and a lot of special costume make-up stuff he had bought online. The boy hadn’t even known how much theatre make-up one could buy on the internet. 

Once more a sigh escaped his lips, when he left his apartment. Jehan didn’t like being late because he always got the feeling of disappointing his friends and that was a thing he desperately wanted to avoid. They meant so much to him! The guilty feeling would’ve caused his cheeks to turn red but it wasn’t visible under all the make-up. Only when he locked the door and stepped out on the street he realized that people must think he was a psychopath or something and even more blood flushed into his cheeks. And indeed, the passers-by looked at him with a frown and wide eyes or even switched to the other side of the street. All this made Jehan feel more than uncomfortable and only the thought of being almost at the Musain and with his friends kept him from going back home. He was really excited to see the others’ reactions to his costume and pleasant anticipation finally helped him to ignore the people’s glances. 

Only a few steps before he reached the café, he caught sight of daisy growing at the roadside and smiled. Even though he knew it would probably ruin the attitude of his costume, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for the flower and pin it with a clasp pin to one strap of his overall.  
Then he entered the Musain.

__________________________________________________________

An annoyed look was visible on the beautiful face of the marble statue that was Enjolras. The leader of Les Amis stood in front of a mirror, a paintbrush in his hand and two pots of theatre make-up on the sink.  “This is so childish", the man grumbled, while he painted half of his face in a black color. Ten minutes later he stepped out of the bathroom with the other half of his face coloured bright red. Still the expression in his eyes wasn’t really happy and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. The man brushed a lock of blond hair out of his face. 

Combeferre, who just left his room, raised a brow at Enjolras ‘costume’ but didn’t say a word, and he appreciated that. His best friend knew that for the leader this party was just a waste of time and that he only decided to go there to spend time with his friends. He might seem cold and like the only thing he had fun doing was debating about politics but in the end he really enjoyed the time with Les Amis. They even made him laugh sometimes with their different personalities and their crazy ideas. Enjolras really cared for them, even though he didn’t show it like Jehan did, for example, who would always hug everyone at every time just because he was happy.  

For a while the man with the painted face stood there and looked at Combeferre, who now obviously fought with himself about whether he should express his thoughts or not.  “What is it, ‘Ferre?” Enjolras asked, arching a brow at his friend, who now tilted his head and looked him over. 

 “You really want to wear this?” Enjolras’ flat mate asked directly whereupon the other man frowned but nodded.  

“Bien sûr. Why not?”, he snapped and looked at himself. He wore a huge red flag wrapped around his flawless body. Only the flag. Nothing more.  Combeferre just waved aside but his smile was a knowing one.  

“We have to go”, he informed Enjolras after glancing at his watch and together they left the apartment, heading towards the Musain.  Enjolras was still wondering what was wrong about his costume. __________________________________________________________

"You're not sick, mon amour", Bossuet pressed a kiss to Joly's forehead and stroked his cheek.

Joly clasped Bossuet's hand and held it against his own forehead. "Feel how warm I am", he insisted.

"You feel fine. You'll have so much fun tonight. Besides, Harry and Hermione need their Ron", Musichetta said comfortingly, in her soft, but authoritative voice.

"Come on, Won-Won", Bossuet smiled teasingly, still trying to convince Joly to get ready as gently and patiently as he could. "I was so looking forward to tonight. For once, I wasn't going to be the only one wearing a wig". Bossuet chuckled as he picked up Joly's red wig and handed it to him.

"Everyone knows Ron is the least popular one in the Golden Trio..." Joly argued, even though he really felt horrible for letting his lovers down like this.

"Well, that's stupid, and you know it!" Musichetta walked right over to Joly and Bossuet and wrestled her way in between them. "Every real Potterhead loves Ron and all of the Weasleys".

"Percy?" Bossuet replied almost immediately, in a rather skeptical tone.

"Well, that's not necessarily a requirement... touché", Musichetta said thoughtfully.

"Joly, really, you're being silly. You know that Ron is critical to the story, and that you're very important to us", Bossuet spoke with finality, in a tone that suggested that he did not want to hear anything more on the subject.

"Fine, I'll go," Joly said in a weary voice, still looking worried. "I just hope I don't get anyone sick."

"You won't, dear. And everyone will be happy to see you", Musichetta smiled reassuringly and handed him his Gryffindor robes that were sitting on their coffee table. 

Bossuet tilted his head, a wide, teasing grin on his face. "I just realized. The wig hair is tidier than your real hair". He ran his hand through Joly's hair, which looked perpetually like bedhead. Joly chuckled, a small smile on his face, which had turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Oh, and I hemmed your robes, by the way", Musichetta said as she turned her head to face Bossuet. "So you don't trip, of course".

Bossuet laughed sarcastically. "Very funny".

"It's always better to be careful, you know", Joly replied, sounding very serious. Bossuet and Musichetta exchanged an amused glance, then they turned back to Joly, still amused.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party starts here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saskia wrote the first scene, Emily wrote the rest.

Cosette looked at herself and sighed. She still looked way too innocent to be recognized as the Devil. The red dress she wore reached almost down to her ankles but the girl had refused to buy a costume on the internet, when Éponine had suggested it. “I want a self-made costume”, Cosette had lied after seeing the said costumes. Well, it wasn’t a real lie. In her opinion self-made costumes were definitely much more beautiful and individual most of the time but that wasn’t the actual reason. All of the dresses she found in the online stores for costumes were very very short and most of them were also low cut. Only thinking about wearing such a dress made the blond girl blush like a tomato.

Again she looked at herself and chewed her lip in a thoughtful manner before she, suddenly determined, grabbed the scissors and cut a slit, that reached almost to her hip, into the red cloth. Satisfied she looked into the mirror and smiled. Of course she would never ever wear something like this in everyday life but for the party it was alright. At least she didn’t look completely innocent anymore. Still she was glad that her father was away tonight, so he wouldn’t see her like this.  
Cosette was just about to pull on black nylons, when her phone buzzed. A quick glance on the screen told her that she got a text message from Marius and immediately a smile lightened up her delicate features. After the girl had replied, she put on a hair band, on which she had glued red devil horns.

Again she got a text and this time she quickly took a photo and sent it to him with the words ‘Does it look okay?’. Marius’ answer was a drooling emoticon which made Cosette giggle. Good-tempered she slipped into her black pumps and left the house just in time.  
__________________________________________________________

Enjolras and Combeferre, despite putting on a show of not caring about the party, were the first to arrive, save for Musichetta, who was just closing shop in the lower level of Musain. Joly and Bossuet were next to arrive, and they all snuck off into the restrooms to change into their Gryffindor Hogwarts uniforms. Combeferre couldn't help but smile at the fact that their trio was now dressed up as the Golden Trio together.

"Hey, Matt Smith", Joly grinned in approval and bumped Combeferre's fist with his own. "And... what on earth are you?" He lowered one eyebrow in confusion once he turned his attention to Enjolras. 

It was very difficult for anyone in the room to ignore that the marble statue and angelic beauty was now leaving very little to the imagination. His whole torso, as well as his arms and legs, were very slender, yet muscular. He was tightly toned in all the right places. His red flag was only loosely draped around his right shoulder, and it hung, just as loosely, around his hips. He really did look like a Greek god. The paint on his face and body made him look more fearsome, like a vengeful Greek god.

"I'm making a statement. A political statement", Enjolras replied shortly, turning his head once he heard the door open. A man in the shape of a country - his favourite country, at that - just strolled in. Of course, Enjolras knew right away that Grantaire was the man dressed as France. What he didn't know, was why.

Grantaire strolled in nonchalantly, looking like his usual self for the most part. He wore his usual green hoodie and skinny jeans, and a pair of his old running shoes, which did not look like they were in mint condition. He'd worn them to one to many boxing classes. His messy dark curls were, as always, tucked underneath his burgundy toque. Yes, he was the picture of a casual and relaxed attitude. That is, until he saw Enjolras.

Grantaire's eyes trailed down Enjolras's body, drinking in every detail. His mouth hung open only slightly, but more so than he would have liked. His eyes widened. Enjolras was gorgeous, even covered in paint. Grantaire absently noted that it wasn't the best body paint, but to him, Enjolras could do no wrong. Enjolras, who always dressed so modestly, surprised everyone. But Grantaire pulled himself together to greet everyone as a collective group and chatted with Combeferre.

Joly caught Bossuet staring at Enjolras from the corner of his eye and nudged his shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"What? I'm not supposed to look? His whole body is on display!" Bossuet whispered loudly, but not loudly enough to draw attention to himself.

"You can look, just don't gawk!" Joly crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder for Musichetta for moral support. She was getting everyone drinks, oblivious to their argument.

"Okay, I didn't gawk. You're getting jealous for no reason", Bossuet wrapped his arms around Joly's waist gently, but Joly did not so much as uncross his arms.

"I'm not irrational. I get jealous only when people give me a reason to get jealous", Joly replied stiffly, not moving.

"Joly, I love you more than anything. How do you not even realize it?" Bossuet's tone was gentle, but his expression appeared weary and a little impatient.

"I'd realize it if you didn't ogle other men when I'm standing right next to you. That was just low", Joly squirmed away from Bossuet's warm embrace and sat at the bar next to Grantaire. Èponine had just shown up while he and Bossuet had exchanged words. Meanwhile, Bossuet gestured to Musichetta to stand next to him on the other side of the bar table. Combeferre and Enjolras were discussing politics, managing to take each other very seriously, despite their ridiculous costumes. 

The door opened again, but everyone else was in deep conversation, so only Grantaire turned his head around to see who had just walked in. While Joly and Èponine were discussing dental hygiene, or perhaps the former was lecturing the latter, Grantaire's head snapped around quickly, and an impressed, "whoa!" escaped his lips. He must have spoken loudly, because everyone seemed to hear him and follow his gaze.

The man who just walked in, if one can even call him a man, had bright orange hair, with a yellower undertone than Joly's Ron Weasley wig, which was darker red. The stranger's hair reached his shoulders, and some strands hung limply against his neck and shoulders, while other strands stuck up in the air. He wore a brightly-coloured, striped shirt, and overalls. What stood out the most, of course, was his face. He not only picked out good make up, but he applied it to his face masterfully. He had deep, dark red scars all over his face. His eyes looked unnaturally green, like he'd used coloured contact lenses. His right eye socket was so dark and deep, it looked like his eye had been ripped from the socket, and never been placed back properly again.

"Hey, it's Chucky!" Grantaire pointed, snorting quietly in laughter. He gestured for the man who was dressed as Chucky to come over to sit next to him. Èponine rolled her eyes and moved two seats over so she was still next to Grantaire, but not next to Joly anymore. With the seat that was made available, the man who dressed up as Chucky was now seated in between Grantaire and Joly.

Suddenly, Èponine's phone rang and she answered. "No, Azelma. You can't come. You're only fifteen, first of all, and besides, there are no cute guys here". She was sure to say this as loudly as she could without screaming into her phone. Grantaire smirked at Èponine with an faux-innocent, "not even me?" expression on his face.

Still, no one knew who the man dressed up as Chucky was, though Grantaire started caring less and less about that, and more and more about getting Enjolras to notice him. He slinked over to where Enjolras and Combeferre were seated, standing in between them both. He turned their discussion into a debate, since Combeferre seemed to always agree with Enjolras. Enjolras would never admit this, but he loved debating with Grantaire, and couldn't imagine a better opponent. Grantaire was the smartest person Enjolras knew, and the only man who could truly equal and rival him in rhetoric. After a few exchanges in ideas, they stopped talking for a minute to stare intensely into the other's eyes. Their attention was not swayed in the least when two more couples and one bachelor arrived.

"What did I miss?" Bahorel, dressed as Flynn Rider, swaggered up the stairs, thumping loudly on each step. Feuilly trailed behind Bahorel, but not as close as you'd suspect. Cosette had been admiring his tail, so he stuck behind and struck up a conversation with her about painting hand fans. Marius and Courfeyrac thought the conversation was dull, so they talked Bahorel.

"Wait... if Cosette's the devil, then who is...?" Bahorel was completely perplexed as to who the woman dressed as Aphrodite was. Courfeyrac grinned at Bahorel, and it gave him away. "No way! Courfeyrac?" Courfeyrac nodded.

Feuilly ran over to talk to Enjolras, oblivious to the intense eyesex between his friends. Enjolras gave Feuilly a firm pat on the back and stepped back to admire his costume. "Well done. Almost makes me wish I put in more of an effort for my costume", Enjolras smiled. He would not have admitted that to anyone else. He wouldn't have even been influenced by anyone else. 

"You look so... political", Feuilly struggled to think of a more appropriate word. "Okay, those three are obviously Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. Grantaire is dressed as... oh my. France. Wow. I was not expecting that. Combeferre is... oh, Doctor Who. And who is that?" Feuilly pointed to the man dressed as Chucky, who ended up having, what looked like, based on their body language, a very awkward conversation with Joly. Not as awkward as Èponine and Marius's conversation, of course, but Cosette was too distracted talking to Musichetta to notice.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally recognize Chucky!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we couldn't update last week. Saskia was settling into university. This chapter was written entirely by Saskia.

Still standing next to Enjolras, Combeferre had tilted his head and were looking across the room, a thoughtful expression on his face. His eyes were fixed on the person in the Chucky costume and he was slightly frowning. And then suddenly he heard the boy talking and caught sight of the daisy that was pinned to his overall and ‘Ferre’s jaw dropped. Everything was just so clear now. 

“It’s Jehan", he murmured and his eyes widened, whereupon Enjolras and Grantaire both looked at the door in expectation to see the poet walking in. But there was nobody entering.  
   
“Doctor, are you alright? You’re talking weird", Grantaire joked and raised a brow at his friend. “Jehan is not here yet.”

“But Jehan is never late", Enjolras cut him off. 

Combeferre rolled his eyes, once he was able to concentrate on the two men next to him again.

 “No, I meant Chucky. It’s Jehan. Jehan is Chucky", he tried to explain, though he was still kind of speechless. The costume was just perfect, due to the fact that even ‘Ferre hadn’t recognized the usually flowery boy at first.  

“Woah", was Grantraire’s reaction to the guide’s words. For a moment he even stopped looking at Enjolras and funnelled his attention on Jehan. 

Enjolras nodded almost impressed and murmured something that sounded like ‘Cool costume’, but this time his eyes were glued to Grantaire and not the other way round. He almost looked upset by the fact that the other man seemed to have forgotten his presence (which was definitely not the case) but Enjolras’ roommate was the only person to notice that. 

After a while the two men finally continued their debate about politics, which was obviously not the actual reason for their conversation. The sexual tension between them was almost tangible. As always. 

They didn’t even notice Combeferre walking away and practically shoving Joly aside to sit next to Jehan.  

“Excellent costume, mon ami. I didn’t even recognize you at first”, he admitted and a very slight blush appeared on his cheeks, which was luckily not visible in the dimmed light.  

“Oh…m-merci, Ferre. And I don't think anyone did at first”, Jehan tried to reassure him and in this moment, when Combeferre complimented his choice of costume, the boy was incredibly glad that the make-up hid his heated cheeks. “And your costume is great, too”, he added quickly, smiling. ‘Ferre smiled and nervously adjusted his head.

Of course it was Musichetta who led Joly away from the two boys, who were trying to keep their conversation about their costumes alive because suddenly they both seemed unusually insecure and obviously weren’t able to find another topic. 

“What’s wrong?”, the girl asked frowning, while handing him a drink. Then she reached for his hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb, and tilted her head. 

“Bossuet”, Joly sighed and gave his lover, who stood in a corner and talked to Courfeyrac, a look that was miffed and longing at the same time. (That was definitely a talent. Not everyone could express those two emotions in one look) Musichetta sighed impatiently at this and then without a warning pulled the struggling Joly towards the bald boy.  

“Boys, I don’t want to know what happened because we all know most of the time your arguments arise out of trifles, but please make it up. I don’t want to deal with two moody boyfriends tonight. I love you and you love each other so where’s the problem?”, she gave a little speech and then added threateningly: “I won’t talk to either of you the whole evening, if you don’t stop being mad at each other. And I mean it. If it’s necessary, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” 

Neither of the boys wanted that. And actually neither of them wanted to fight either and so Bossuet quickly reached out for Joly and pulled him into his arms, placing a kiss on the medic’s head. Both men were smiling now as if nothing had happened between them and that caused a triumphant grin playing around ‘Chetta’s lips.    
“You guys are impossible”, Musichetta chuckled, just when Joly murmured an ‘I love you’ against Bossuet’s neck. The whole trio was smiling now.

“You promised me not to attract other people”, Bahorel whispered into Feuilly’s ear, while he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend in a possessive manner but with a grin on his face. The reason for this comment was the fact that Cosette was still admiring the ginger’s costume, even though she glanced over at her boyfriend every so often.  
   
“I told you as well that the colors automatically attract females”, he replied shyly and continued: “But I am only attracted to you. That’s what matters.” 

And with those words he turned his head to peck his lover’s lips. Bahorel smiled a satisfied smile and Cosette giggled softly before she left the lovebirds alone, heading towards Marius, who was still completely fascinated by the conversation he had with Éponine. The blond devil couldn’t help but furrow her brows, when she saw that. She wasn’t jealous. Of course not. Cosette wasn’t the type of girl to get jealous because the thought of Marius looking at other girls appeared to the trustful girl as an impossible scenario. 

Still she knew that Éponine had a thing for the freckly boy. And even though the dark-haired girl was her friend and Cosette would never ascribe something to her, she had very well noticed that the white costume was rather a long top than a dress.  

“Hey there”, the blonde fluted and sat down across from Marius, smiling lovingly at him and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Then she smiled at Éponine, who sat next to her and hugged her. Just in the moment when she opened her mouth again to start a conversation, Courfeyrac’s loud voice interrupted her.  

“So, since you guys bore the pants off me”, Courf began smirking, “I figured out a plan to make this party a little more interesting.” A wicked sparkle was visible in his eyes, when he now faced Grantaire.  “Truth or dare, R?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People get dared to do stuff. Drama ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Emily. Google really has some good truth or dare ideas - check it out!

Grantaire grinned at Courfeyrac. He was not the most badass one in the room, who would do any dare that came his way. That was Bahorel. Still, he took a lot of pride in his "I don't give a fuck" attitude. It surprised no one that he started right away with a dare.

"I dare you", Courfeyrac grinned at Grantaire. "To pick a piece of gum off the bottom of your chair and chew it for no less than a minute".

Grantaire tried not to gag, but he rose from his seat and felt the bottom of the chair.

"I'll have you know, Musain is spotless,", Musichetta rolled her eyes. Her face fell when Grantaire found a piece of gum. He popped it in his mouth and started chewing on it.

"It has no flavour", Grantaire commented mildly. "Oh wait... yes, it does. Whoever chewed this before me had garlic breath".

Every single person in the room gagged, shrieked, or muttered how disgusting that was.

Once the timer on Courfeyrac's phone beeped, Grantaire stuck the piece of gum back where he got it from in the first place. Then he turned to Jehan.

"Truth or dare?" Grantaire asked Jehan.

Jehan was seen as a very innocent boy who never did anything crazy. That much was apparent by everyone's shock that he'd chosen to dress up as Chucky. He chose dare, as well, and only partly to prove a point.

"I dare /you/", Grantaire smirked evilly. "To give a lap dance to the person in the room who has the shortest name". Jehan had a thoughtful expression on his face, then it dawned on him who that person would be.

Jehan was beside himself. He tried to put on a calm demeanour, but that didn't work very well. His face was bright red and very warm. Joly chuckled nervously and readjusted the Ron Weasley wig on his head. 

Jehan turned around so his back was facing Joly. Then he bent over and shook his bottom near Joly's face in very slow, awkward movements. There was a lot of laughter, and even some giggles, in the room. Only Combeferre and Grantaire kept a straight face, though for different reasons. Combeferre couldn't even watch. He was pretty uncomfortable, and somewhat jealous of the position in which Joly found himself.

"Boo!" Grantaire shouted in disapproval. "That's not how you lap dance at all". Grantaire, as insecure as he was about his knowledge in a lot of areas, even his specialties, which were literature, art, and history, he was proud of his extensive knowledge about sex and alcohol. He considered himself to be ignorant about everything else.

With a mildly annoyed huff, Jehan crossed his arms and sat back down in his seat.

"Now I should be jealous", Bossuet chuckled lightly, nudging Joly to make sure he had heard him.

"I'll make it up to you", Joly, whose face was very red at this point, winked at Bossuet, who in turn grinned from ear to ear. "But holy shit! I never in a million years expected that Chucky would give me a lap dance!" He said a little louder to the whole group. They all roared in laughter.

Jehan then turned to Bahorel. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare. Obviously", Bahorel cracked his knuckles and withdrew his arm from Feuilly's waist, where it was resting previously.

"I dare you", Jehan said with a smile. "If anyone in the room is not wearing underwear, you must drop your pants and reveal your underwear. If you yourself are not wearing underwear, you must drop your pants to prove it".

"I'm sorry, bro", Grantaire spoke a little more loudly than anyone else in that position would, totally unashamed. "I don't do anything that's optional". There were a few awkward chuckles in the room, but Enjolras had an unfathomable expression on his face.

Bahorel dropped his pants, revealing his Superman underpants.

"Aww they're adorable", Bossuet teased. Bahorel blushed, pulled up his pants, and sat back down.

"Cosette", Bahorel chose Cosette because she was new to the group, and he wanted to prove that there were no hard feelings between them. "Truth or dare?"

Cosette wanted to prove that she was just as daring as the boys. She had the slit in her dress to prove it. "Dare". Marius whispered comfortingly into Cosette's ear, most likely telling her that she had nothing to prove. Cosette assured him that she was fine.

"I dare you to pick a random person and a random number. Then I'll tell you the rest", Bahorel said mysteriously.

"I choose Feuilly and eight", Cosette announced proudly. She simply adored Marius, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire, but she couldn't choose Marius because she was meant to socialize with his friends and get to know them, and she wasn't sure if she trusted Courfeyrac or Grantaire in this particular game.

"Then Feuilly", Bahorel started the continuation of this dare triumphantly, then his face fell when he realized what would happen. "Feuilly will stick eight ice cubes in any part of your body".

Cosette blushed a deep red. She'd only just met Feuilly, and he was the darer's lover. Marius jumped out of his seat and glared at Bahorel. Bahorel was beside himself. Feuilly got himself a glass with eight ice cubes in it and approached Cosette serenely, not at all bothered by the dare.

"Open wide", Feuilly smiled gently as he held one ice cube. Cosette furrowed her brow, until she realized. He meant to stick the ice cubes in her mouth. She smiled at him and opened her mouth wide enough to fit an ice cube. She crunched on each ice cube so she'd be able to fit all eight in her mouth. Bahorel and Marius exchanged a significant look and both men sighed in relief.

Cosette turned to the chief, Enjolras, who had not been dared to do anything, or even play a part in any dares. The fearless leader would obviously choose dare, but it was protocol to ask. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare, of course", Enjolras answered cooly. "I'll do anything you ask me to... that is, as long as it's not something I don't want to do".

Cosette nodded. "I dare you to kiss the person here who is dressed as your favourite thing". All eyes were darting between Enjolras and Grantaire, who was currently dressed as France.

"Oh no you didn't..." Enjolras clenched his teeth, almost hissing in rage at Cosette. Cosette was actually oblivious. She'd only just started dating Marius, who never mentioned the sexual tension between Enjolras and Grantaire. She just knew that Enjolras was very patriotic, and that they were both currently unattached.

Grantaire was beside himself, shaking his head quickly, very embarrassed. The whole room spoke quietly amongst themselves, whispering, muttering, and gossiping.

"There is no way in hell I would ever kiss him!" Enjolras shouted over everyone. Enjolras saw no reason for Grantaire to ever like him. He always hated his feminine features, so he saw no reason for Grantaire to like that about him. Grantaire also knocked down his political beliefs and ideals constantly. He was willing to fight and die for his ideals, but it was all a joke to Grantaire, as far as he knew. Enjolras couldn't bear to kiss Grantaire, knowing this.

Grantaire shrunk in his seat. If one looked closely enough, he'd see the split second in which Grantaire's heart snapped in two. The pain was clearly etched on his face for everyone to see. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable around his friends. Now everyone could see how truly lovesick he was. 

Even Enjolras, for the first time, could see the damage he'd caused. His own heart dropped to his stomach, as the guilt slowly ate away at him. "Grantaire..." he said quietly, still having not moved from where he was standing.

Grantaire said nothing. He stood up and ran down the stairs, trying to run as far away from Musain as he could. Enjolras pursued him.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Amis get an unwanted visitor, and a Cupid tries to fix everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily wrote the first scene, and Saskia wrote the second scene.

The rest of the group continued playing truth or dare a couple minutes later. They were very shocked by this turn of events.

"Since Enjolras is not here to ask the next person, I will", Courfeyrac announced to the room. "Marius, truth or dare?"

"I'm always truthful, so dare", Marius answered confidently, as though he didn't even have to think about it.

"I dare you to lick Èponine's face", Courfeyrac laughed lightly.

Marius didn't see the harm in that, though Cosette looked a little wary. Èponine was thrilled by how well this dare had turned out for her. Marius smiled bashfully at Èponine and gave her face a gentle lick.

Then Combeferre noticed a shadow in the doorway by the stairs. How long it had been there, he didn't know. His silhouette was the first thing their group could see. It was a big, long shadow, and somehow menacing.

The man ascended the stairs silently. If the lights were dim enough that a shadow was not so visible, the man would have taken the entire room by surprise and given them a nasty fright.

He was Montparnasse. His face was very pale and beautiful. His black hair contrasted against his face, hanging limply just below his ear lobes. His lips were red like cherries, and they had the perfect amount of delicate plumpness to them. He had a strong brow and a straightly pointed nose that was slightly upturned. Montparnasse was also impeccably dressed, wearing a fine black jacket, black dress slacks, and black dress shoes. These articles of clothing were all very nice, perhaps a long time ago, but they were now filthy and threadbare.

"Well, well, well, 'Ponine", Montparnasse slinked towards his girlfriend, whom he had addressed. Everyone fell silent, except Èponine, who shot him a dirty look.

"Now's not the time", Èponine said dismissively.

"That's where you're wrong", Montparnasse chuckled darkly. "It seems I was in the right place at the right time, for once".

"It meant nothing. I was da-" Marius started to defend himself, but Montparnasse quickly approached him and threw his bow and arrow across the room.

"I've never seen anything more pathetic in all of my life. You're all a freak show", Montparnasse laughed derisively, gesturing to everyone in their costumes. "Come, 'Ponine. We'll put that slutty costume to better use".

"Piss off, 'Nasse", Èponine rose from her seat to face him and crossed her arms tightly, which made her cleavage pop out even more.

Everyone was so busy watching Èponine and Montparnasse, that no one in the group noticed Marius duck out to try and find Enjolras and Grantaire.

Meanwhile...

In a dark alley, Grantaire was sitting on the cold, hard ground. His eyes were fixed on something on the pavement before his feet, probably an old chewing gum that was already tramped down by the feet of many passers-by. But he couldn’t really see anything through the blur of tears in his blue optics.   
It was silly that he was crying. He had known it all along. Enjolras hated him. Hate, anger, impatience. Those were the only feelings their great leader had for the drunken cynic. It was nothing new, it was nothing unexpected. And still the pain in Grantaire’s heart was piercing. He was used to the feeling. It was always there, when he looked at Enjolras but it had never been this bad. To hear the man he loved clearly expressing what he thought about him in front of everyone had broken his heart in two.   
When he touched the place at his chest where his most important organ was located, he could almost feel the crack which had been caused by the blond god’s words. But Grantaire wasn’t sobbing as usual when he was drunk and the other refused him. Tears filled his eyes, yes, some of them even ran down his cheeks, but his gaze was still fixed at the same point on the pavement.   
The pain seemed to make his whole body go numb and after a while he couldn’t even feel the cold of the ground anymore.

That was when Enjolras found him.   
First R didn’t notice the other man, who was standing next to him and looked down at him, completely helpless. Only when he heard a voice, his voice, quietly calling his name, he reacted with a short nod. Anything else would’ve been too hard for him. He didn’t want to look up at the marble statue and let him see his tears, even though that probably didn’t matter anymore anyways.   
Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and now he just had to look up. To Grantaire’s surprise the expression on Enjolras face had softened and maybe there even was an unspoken apology visible in his eyes.   
R bit his lip and waited for the other man to say something.

“Grantaire, you know what I meant”, Enjolras began but was cut off by the obviously heartbroken man next to him.

“Non, actually I don’t. What /did/ you mean?” His tone in his voice was just as sharp as the tone in Enjolras’ voice had shown how uncomfortable this all made him.

The leader narrowed his eyes which now began to sparkle with anger.  
“So I followed you out here to make it up and you have nothing better to do than keep blaming me for everything. Great!”, he snapped.

Those were the words that led Marius to the alley where the two men now stood, facing each other. Grantaire still with tear filled eyes but with a pissed look on his face and Enjolras with his jaw clenched and his eyes again showing a cold expression.

“Well, I didn’t force you to follow me, Apollo. That was your decision”, Graintare said in the moment, when Marius turned the corner.

“Don’t call me that”, Enjolras hissed and at that, the freckly boy who was dressed as Cupid rolled his eyes and tried to catch the men’s attention by letting out a sigh.

Both turned their heads and stared at him.  
“Jesus, can’t you two just make it up. Everyone knows that you have feelings for each other. Even I noticed that”, Marius told them and this straightforwardness was very unusual for him. But tonight he was Cupid and it was practically his job. Besides it was about time that someone told them what they obviously couldn’t see themselves.

“Don’t be stupid, Cupid”, Grantaire growled. “Just look at him. The only feeling he could ever have about me is obviously hate.” And with those words he pointed at Enjolras face.

For the astonishment of all, the blond man took a step forward and looked into the other’s tear filled eyes.

“That’s not true, R. I don’t hate you. Actually I…”, he began, when Marius finally realized what was happening and quietly walked away with the view to leave them alone in this moment which seemed to turn emotional.

“You?”, Grantaire asked nervously and shifted from one foot to another.

In lack of words to answer the question, Enjolras took the other man’s hand in his, looking down at it as if he’d never seen two hands intertwining. And then Grantaire couldn’t resist anymore. No longer wasting a thought on the possible consequences, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Enjolras’ soft mouth, and Enjolras returned the kiss.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best costume is announced and Marius discovers that a certain poet has feelings for one of their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saskia wrote the E/R part at the beginning and Emily wrote the rest

"Shall we?", Grantaire asked, pointing at the door of the Musain, and Enjolras nodded.   
They were both quite unsure about Les Amis’ reactions, even though Marius’ statement about how ‘everyone knew that they had feelings for each other’ had been quite clear. And now they stood in front of the café, looking at the door as if it was a gate to a completely new world but still the wide smile never faded from R’s lips because −and he still couldn’t believe it− Enjolras was holding his hand.   
Finally he noticed that the blond, usually so confident, god by his side would have stood there forever, if Grantaire didn’t start moving, and so he took a step towards the door.

This was when Enjolras woke up from his stiffness and pulled the other man close. He wrapped his slender arms around his waist. Or at least he tried to. Grantaire’s costume was so cumbersome that Enjolras gave up after a few tries and just leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

“And this is why being with me is much easier than being with Patria would have been”, ‘Taire explained with a triumphant grin and added: “She’s just so difficult.”  
The other man rolled his eyes but a melodic laugh escaped his perfect lips. And the suddenly he looked at Grantaire, obviously just realizing something.  
“Wait, did you…did you choose that costume because of me?”, he asked in disbelief and stared at R, who just replied with a wink and an ‘I thought you did the same’, before he entered the Musain.

Once they re-entered the upper level of Musain, holding hands and stealing loving glances at each other, their friends all grinned broadly. Courfeyrac seemed to be the happiest about their new relationship, and he was the only one who was both unattached and didn't want anyone in particular. He nudged Marius's shoulder and pointed at Enjolras' and Grantaire's hands, which were clasped together. Marius, who snuck back into the party once his friends' conversation got too deep and personal, gave Courfeyrac a short nod and mouthed, "I know".

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows at Marius, shocked that anyone, especially his socially awkward best friend, interfered with such a sensitive issue. Though, it seemed like Marius may have been the best person to interfere, since he was so smart and sensitive.

"Where did Pony go?" Grantaire asked, once he pried his eyes away from Enjolras.  
"Pony? No one here is named Pony..." Enjolras wrinkled his nose. Then his expression completely softened. He was still so used to only bickering with Grantaire, that it would take some getting used to.  
"Èponine. I call her Pony", Grantaire explained to Enjolras, not at all put off by his lover's tone of voice.  
"She went back to Montparnasse's flat. She said it sucks that you and Marius left, so she might as well crash at his place tonight", Cosette, who was sitting only one chair away from Grantaire, explained.  
"Oh. I don't like him", Grantaire said mildly, as though he was, for the most part, indifferent to Montparnasse. Almost no one was indifferent to the most notorious gang leader in Paris. "Anyways, what now?"

"Now", Musichetta announced, rising from her seat, in which Bossuet had been playing with her black curls. "We announce the best costume winner".

Joly took his wig off and plucked a hand fan off of Feuilly's arm, which had been serving as a wing for his peacock costume. Feuilly glared at Joly (as threatening as a kitten would glare), and reached to grab the fan back, but Joly held it too far away. Also, in Joly's defence, he looked very overheated.  
"These wigs get so hot. How do you stand it?" He muttered to his best friend, running a hand through his actual hair.  
Just as Bossuet was about to answer, Musichetta snapped her head around to give Joly a significant look, and that silenced him.  
"Now, I decided, and I've given this a lot of thought, that I should be the judge. I'm not biased at all, and I made this party happen, so, yeah", Musichetta was adamant, though she spoke in a softer tone. "Stand over there, all of you".

Les Amis all stood together in a somewhat organized fashion.

"The winner is Feuilly, dressed as a peacock with a broken wing", Musichetta grinned. She knew that her boyfriend had stolen the wing right off of the poor boy's arm. She didn't see him steal it, but she saw the cute medical student with the hand fan.  
"Merci", Feuilly was pleased with himself, but also very surprised that he'd won.  
Bahorel did not look surprised at all, but he was clearly pleased by the results of the contest.   
Then he swiped the hand fan back from Joly and gently reattached it to Feuilly's arm.  
"Hey, I was using th-" Joly started to protest, then he shrugged it off. "Well, I was done with it, anyways".

"As I was about to tell you before", Bossuet said, only just loudly enough for Joly to hear. "The truth is, I only wear my wig because I want to look good for you. Well, and Musichetta, but mostly you".  
Joly was touched, but he shook his head. "You always look good to me. Better than good, even". He placed his hands on Bossuet's lower back. "Hair or no hair. I know how uncomfortable it feels now, and I want you to know that it's not necessary".  
"Merci, Joly", Bossuet beamed. He was so grateful to hear those words come from his best friend's mouth. It meant a lot to him that he could still be attractive to the younger man. "And, Joly, I know I shouldn't bring this up again, but I really am sorry. Truly. I never meant to offend you or make you jealous. I love you, and you're the only man for me".  
"You're allowed to look, mon amour", Joly said slowly, with a deep sigh, as though it pained him to say it. "I can't stop you. I trust you, and that's what's important".

Cosette was chattering away to Courfeyrac, who was politely amused with every couple in the room, the trio, and even a potential couple. He was making small talk with Cosette at first, but then he ended up telling her some embarrassing stories about Marius. For the most part, he merely exaggerated how lovesick he was for Cosette. Cosette blushed and laughed, amused, flattered, and skeptical of how much of it was true.

Marius, at the time, was talking to Jehan. It also started up as smalltalk, but then he put his hand on Jehan's shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"When are you going to tell Combeferre that you love him?" Marius asked in a gentle, but serious tone. There was no mocking in his voice, so Jehan didn't feel cornered. His face fell, though, and he looked away from Marius. At first, he looked to the right, glancing at Combeferre. Once Combeferre met his gaze, he shyly turned away and smiled at Grantaire.  
"Only when the timing is right. I'll know when to tell him. I'll feel it. Besides, he may even ask me", Jehan tried to speak with confidence, but he sounded just as uncertain as he felt.  
"He really likes you, Jehan, but he's much less likely to ask you out, than vice versa", Marius informed the younger man. "He's really shy. Well, shyer than you".  
"How do I know he even likes me? I've only heard so from you. Right now", Jehan sighed, still a little skeptical.  
"I see the way he looks at you. That's how every man wants to be looked at", Marius reassured him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go kiss Cosette again".


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan puts Grantaire to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter for this instalment. We're taking a short break after this, since things got a little busy. A new instalment is in progress, though. If you've made it this far, thank you, gentle readers!

Marius walked away and Jehan stood in the middle of the room, looking somehow like a lost puppy in a Chucky costume. His eyes wandered around the room until they found Combeferre, who seemed to be in a strong discussion with Courfeyrac, on whose face a smirk was clearly visible. However, ‘Ferre was slightly frowning and constantly adjusting his glasses. The man seemed nervous. Could it be that he really liked him? The thought made Jehan smile. For a moment he closed his eyes and only after he had made his decision, he opened them again. Just to see Courf placing a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder and leaning forward to whisper something into his ear, grinning. First the man made a face but then he chuckled slightly. And that changed the poet’s mind. He felt jealousy rising inside him and turned away. Then he sat down on a chair, disappointed by his own feelings. He should be happy for his friends, if there was something going on between them. He loved them both so much, even though what he felt were two different kinds of love, and he wanted them to be happy. It hurt nonetheless.

Deep in his thought he didn’t notice Combeferre’s loving gaze resting on him.

“You should tell him, ‘Ferre. Otherwise you’ll never know”, Courfeyrac expressed his opinion. Combeferre was skeptical. He was kind of afraid of his own feelings and the fact that he didn’t know, if Jehan liked him made it even worse. A little sigh escapes the man’s lips and Courf rolled his eyes at him in a playful manner.  “I know he likes you”, the man with the blond wig on his head smiled but the costume didn’t help to take him really serious. 

 “And how do you know, Aphrodite?”, ‘Ferre asked and his voice sounded sharper than he planned it to do. “Did he tell you?”

 At this point of the conversation Courfeyrac got impatient and Combeferre got even more nervous (if that was possible). With a smirk Courf placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned forward until his lips were next to his ear.  “If you don’t go for it, I will”, the man threatened and ‘Ferre’s face went pale. “And not even Jehan will be able to resist Aphodite.” 

 Now Courfeyrac winked and Combeferre looked relieved. He even let out a small chuckle.

“Go now! He’s looking at you.” ‘Ferre turned his head but Jehan wasn’t looking. He sat on some chair next to the window and Combeferre could only see his back. The poet’s seemed to look through the glass at the already dark streets.

But he wasn’t. He watched Combeferre’s reflection in the window with a sad smile on his scarred face. And suddenly he realized that the other man was watching him as well. Just for a short moment, but that moment made Jehan smile. And then ‘Ferre was again talking to Courfeyrac, or rather, Courfeyrac was talking to Combeferre, whose face now showed a helpless, almost desperate, expression. This was the first time, Jehan realized, that one could easily read ‘Ferre’s face. And the message it send was obviously the sentence: “I don’t know what to do”.  A thought appeared in the poets head. Maybe it wasn’t what it had looked like. Maybe Courf was just playfully flirting with everyone again. Combeferre looked like he felt very uncomfortable.

 “Hey R”, Jehan addressed Grantaire with loud voice, once he decided that he had to ‘save’ the boy he loved from an obviously awkward conversation.  Grantaire looked at the blond boy and questioningly raised an eyebrow. A wide grin was seen on his face and he had wrapped one arm around Enjolras’, who sat next to him on a barstool.

 “I was thinking”, Jehan began, “that, after you booed at my dare earlier, you should show us how to do a perfect lap dance. I bet everyone here would love to see that.”    
Now he had everyone’s attention. Nobody had expected that from the boy, they almost saw as a little brother. Courfeyrac had interrupted himself in the middle of the sentence and were now staring at them, surprised but grinning. Bahorel began to cheer and now all the boys, except of Enjolras who seemed frozen on his chair, were encouraging ‘Taire. The dark-haired man started to smirk.  

“As you wish”, he said and Jehan expected him to turn to face Enjolras, who looked skeptical around, when someone started the music. But instead of doing that, R walked towards the boy who had challenged him, his grin practically screamed the word ‘self-confidence’.

Jehan’s clear blue eyes widened and now he blushed so furiously that the color on his cheeks was visible even through the layers of scary make-up. He opened the mouth to say something but no words came out, when Grantaire reached him. When Jehan looked around, he could see Comberre glancing at him. Now he looked even more uncomfortable than before, which was definitely not a good sign. 

“Ready?”, Grantaire smirked and began to move his hips in the rhythm of the song. Jehan swallowed and bit his lip. It obviously hadn’t been his best idea and when he looked at ‘Ferre’s face again, he knew that he had made things even worse. Even though he couldn’t say why.  He looked up at R, who was a surprisingly good dancer. Not even the costume bothered him. He was about to move really close, when suddenly a figure stepped between them. A figure, wearing a red flag wrapped around the body.

Jehen was more than relieved to let Enjolras force himself between him and Grantaire. It was getting a little awkward for the poet. Grantaire was less than relieved, however. His stomach dropped when he realized that Enjolras wanted for him to give him a lap dance. What if he screwed up, of what if Enjolras simply didn't find him attractive? Obviously, he had nothing on Enjolras in terms of physical beauty. Grantaire looked questioningly at Enjolras, who nodded with a small smile.

Courfeyrac turned on some sexy music, which, as it turns out, the first song was 'Sail' by AWOLnation. Grantaire moved slowly and sensually at first, since the anticipation was sometimes better than rushing into it. He stroked Enjolras's blond curls once he turned around to approach him. Enjolras reached out to place a hand on Grantaire's hip, but he swatted his new boyfriend's hand away - something he never expected to do in his whole life.

"You don't touch the dancers", Grantaire gave him an almost nervous smirk. Enjolras was now intrigued. He knew nothing about lap dances, so he just had to take Grantaire's word for it. 

Grantaire toyed around with Enjolras for a bit longer before he continued dancing. He leaned over so far, it looked to a lot of the other Amis that he had taken a break and was now sitting in Enjolras's lap, but he was still dancing. The closeness was intentional. He kept reaching to touch Enjolras, his hair, his face, even his body. Enjolras had to really restrain himself to not touch Grantaire, though he'd been practising self-denial all his life until that night, so it wasn't as difficult for him as it would have been for other men.

Enjolras's face was pretty red at this point, but he scarcely noticed how warm his cheeks were because he was so distracted by Grantaire. No, /enchanted/ by him. To him, Grantaire was a very handsome, intelligent, and creative young man who was confident in his sexuality. Enjolras admired all of those things. Most of all, though, Grantaire had a heart of gold. 

Enjolras barely noticed the cheering, as well as the hooting and hollering from his friends. Grantaire, however, would have preferred if they didn't watch. As confident as he was in his lap dancing abilities, he hated "performing" for people because he figured they'd just make comments about him being too plain or homely. Courfeyrac and Bahorel in particular were cheering him on, though. 

Once the song was over, Grantaire sat on Enjolras's lap and wrapped his arms around himself. "You may touch me now", he chuckled lightly, but it turned into a nervous giggle. He blushed, embarrassed.

"Oh, no. It's too late /now/. You had your chance", Enjolras managed to keep a straight face. When he saw Grantaire's frown, he wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. "It was a joke".

During Grantaire’s lap dance, Jehan had been standing at the bar, every so often glancing over at Combeferre, instead of watching the ‘performance’. One time their eyes had met and this had caused a blush to creep up Jehan’s cheeks. He had looked away quickly, not noticing that exactly the same happened with the other man. He caught sight of the drinks and tilted his head, thinking for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and just reached for two beers, carrying them over to Combeferre.

“Hey”, he addressed him and gave him his usual sweet smile, even though it looked rather scary than sweet under all the make-up.

‘Ferre, who had recognized the boy’s voice immediately, returned the smile shyly and adjusted his glasses.   
“Hi Jehan”, he replied as if they only just saw each other for the first time since they entered the Musain tonight.   
Not really knowing what to say, the poet handed him one beer. 

“Merci. But I’m the driver tonight”, Combeferre murmured and none of them even realized that Jehan hadn’t brought a bottle opener anyways. In fact the beer was only a failed try to keep the conversation going.

Now both of them were silent. Combeferre stared at the useless bottle in his hand and Jehan stared at Combeferre. He opened his mouth several times to say something but always closed it again without a word having passed his lips. Finally he cleared his throat and after what felt like ages, ‘Ferre lifted his head and looked into the poet’s ocean blue eyes.  
And that look was it what made Jehan gather all his courage and open his mouth again, this time the words came out even though they were only a whisper.

“Would you g-”, Jehan was interrupted by a quite drunk Bahorel, who was stepping between them. 

“Would you”, he placed a hand on ‘Ferre’s shoulder, “give me and Feuilly a ride home? Pleeeaaase!” Bahorel leaned forward and brought his lips near the other man’s ear, obviously about to whisper something but failed completely. "Psst, it’s because Feuilly doesn’t have a driver’s license”, he giggled instead loud enough that Jehan could hear every word clearly. 

Combeferre nodded and Jehan sighed. His moment of confidence was over and Combeferre was dragged along by Bahorel. They exchanged one last look and ‘Ferre smiled apologetically at Jehan, before the door of the Musain closed behind him.

The poet sat on a barstool, hanging his head.


End file.
